Chapter 57

A forgotten structure stood at the edge of the city, its towering steel beams barely holding against the weight of time. The silence inside was eerie, broken only by the occasional creak of rusted metal. Darkness pooled in the corners of the vast room, where the air was thick with dust and the scent of oil lingered.

Enzo positioned himself near the center, the cold steel of his weapon firm in his grasp. His pulse was steady, his stance unwavering, but beneath the surface, he was coiled like a predator awaiting its prey.

Isabella, though pale and visibly weakened, refused to stay behind. She had argued fiercely, unwilling to let her injuries keep her from facing whatever truth awaited them. The flickering overhead light cast long shadows across her face, emphasizing the determination in her gaze.

A low groan echoed as the massive entrance shifted.

Footsteps.

Methodical. Measured.

Enzo tightened his grip, his breathing slow and controlled. The silhouette that emerged wasn't what he had anticipated. It was neither an enemy nor a stranger lurking in the darkness. It was someone who shouldn't be here.

The moment recognition hit, a surge of emotions crashed into him. He masked it well, keeping his face unreadable.

"You."

A slow smirk curled across the visitor's lips, the expression both confident and mocking. "I warned you, didn't I? You were never meant to come this far."

Enzo's fingers twitched near the trigger. "You knew."

The smirk deepened. "Oh, I knew. And I told you to walk away." A pause. "But now, you've forced my hand."

Metal groaned above them. A mechanical whir sliced through the quiet.

The doors behind them slammed shut.

Locks clicked into place. The unmistakable sound of a system engaging reverberated through the building.

Enzo's chest rose and fell with measured breaths.

They weren't alone.

They were trapped.

A stark contrast to the warehouse, the place they were led to was meticulously arranged, every detail precise and deliberate. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, reflecting against pristine surfaces. Screens lined the walls, flashing fragments of information, the glow casting an otherworldly hue across the room.

The second the entrance sealed behind them, Isabella felt her stomach coil.

A disembodied voice crackled through unseen speakers, a tone laced with amusement. "Curiosity is dangerous," it mused. "But since you've come all this way, let's put an end to your search."

The displays flickered. One by one, images solidified-grainy recordings, faded documents, photographs that spanned decades.

Then, a singular piece of footage dominated the screen.

Two men, seated across from each other. Their expressions were unreadable, their presence commanding. They knew these men.

Their fathers.

Side by side. Not at war.

As partners.

Isabella's breath hitched. "No"

The footage played on, their voices emerging through the distortion of age.

"Our legacy will not be understood," one of them stated.

"It doesn't need to be," the other responded.

The screen cut to black.

Then the voice returned, controlled and emotionless.

"The fight you were raised in wasn't what you thought it was. It wasn't about power. It wasn't about revenge." A pause. "It was about you."

The weight of those words struck deep. Isabella pressed a trembling hand against the console, her world tipping.

Enzo clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Everything he had believed was unraveling. The years of bloodshed, the sacrifices made-it had never been about their families hating one another.

They were never rivals.

They were pawns.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and edged with quiet fury. "We weren't enemies."

"No," the voice confirmed. "You were the prize."

Isabella felt her pulse thundering beneath her skin.

All this time all this war

It had never been about them.

It had been because of them.

A long stretch of steel loomed over the rushing waters below, the bridge standing tall against the night sky. The soft hum of the city in the distance was a cruel reminder that the world carried on, unaware of the battle being waged in its shadows.

On one end of the bridge, a line of vehicles stood idle, headlights slicing through the darkness. The figures surrounding them were unreadable in the dim glow, but their message was clear.

Enzo and Isabella stood their ground.

The choice had already been made.

A man stepped forward, his voice smooth and commanding.

"You've learned the truth," he said. "Now, you decide."

His hand gestured, sweeping over the city skyline behind them.

"Surrender," he offered. "Or watch it burn."

Isabella's grip on her weapon remained steady. She had lost too much, endured too much, to back down now.

Enzo's gaze flickered toward her, his expression unreadable.

"Are you ready for this?" his voice barely above a murmur.

Her chest rose and fell in quiet determination.

She had spent her life running, questioning, and surviving.

She would not run anymore.

The choice was no longer theirs.

"I was born ready."

The night exploded with gunfire.